


A Moment's Freedom

by Nny



Series: 2019 Valentine's Requests [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 21:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: It is not that the girls are tiresome, at least not all. It is the mamas that Bucky can’t stand, for in spite of his infirmity he has ten thousand a year and a property left to him in his infancy and very ably managed by his mother. It makes him an enticing prospect, even with the unsightly lack of a limb, and the more so now that Steven has escaped the marriage market by gratefully accepting Miss Romanova’s beautiful hand.





	A Moment's Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).



Bucky places his punch glass very carefully on the marble-topped table just inside the French doors, and walks out onto the terrace, ensuring that he steps heavily enough that any courting lovers can make themselves scarce and thus avoid embroiling him in their petty scandals.

It is cooler by far out here, and he leans against the stone balustrade and looks out over the rolling lawns that Steve prefers to the current fashion of mazes and follies and knotwork. Bucky won’t deny it feels safer by far; he can see, even in darkness, as far as the forest that they would explore together as children, and even the best sharpshooter would have trouble making a shot at that distance.

Bucky rubs the shoulder of his truncated arm absently, then tucks the loose sleeve back between the buttons of his jacket, that his disability might not in any way be unseemly.

Voices inside the ballroom move a little closer to the door, and he is forced into a decision; in spite of the words he knows he will be having with Steven later, rather than return to the ballroom he quickly descends the stone steps and rounds the newel post at the bottom, hurrying along the flagged pathway that he might stay in the shadows there.

It is not that the girls are tiresome, at least not all. It is the mamas that Bucky can’t stand, for in spite of his infirmity he has ten thousand a year and a property left to him in his infancy and very ably managed by his mother. It makes him an enticing prospect, even with the unsightly lack of a limb, and the more so now that Steven has escaped the marriage market by gratefully accepting Miss Romanova’s beautiful hand.

The thought of Steve’s exceptional fiancee - who is much too good for him, as Bucky has informed the both of them many a time - naturally turns his attention, and his head, to the stables. It is no great surprise that there are lanterns burning there, for many of Steve’s acquaintances are soldiers and prefer arriving on horseback to the confinement of carriages, but it still grabs his attention as nothing else might. It is barely a wrestling match with his conscience - if anything a mildly discourteous exchange of words - before Bucky walks through the narrow gated opening and into the stableyard beyond.

Those guests that had brought carriages have them waiting in the great gravelled circle at the front of the house, and any coachmen that wish for it will likely have availed themselves of the refreshments and hospitality provided for them in the kitchen. If Bucky knows soldiers - and of anything, soldiers he knows - they will be drinking and dancing and carousing long into the night, so there will be no one to question his presence here.

Considering his purpose, that is just as well.

The air in the stables is warmer than outside, and a little musty with hay dust and the particular associated scents. It is cleaner than it had ever been in Bucky’s memory, and though the organisation leaves something to be desired everything is clean and meticulously cared for, and something about the carefully arranged pile that includes a currying brush, a hoof pick, three arrows and the wrapped remains of someone’s lunch makes something warm settle in his stomach.

There is no use calling. When they had first arrived, Bucky had assumed that Miss Romanova’s man was Russian and stoic, much as she is. Over time he has learned that Barton is deaf, the result of childhood trauma and by preference not spoken of. He has also learned that Barton reads lips well enough, could talk the hind leg off a mule, and has a smile that the devil would be ashamed to wear, as too clearly advertising his art.

Warm hands are placed on Bucky’s hips from behind, then circle to rest on his stomach; despite the undeniable risk of it, he tilts his head to one side, exposing his vulnerable throat to the brush of stubbled skin and chapped lips.

“Missed you,” he mumbles to the skin just beneath Bucky’s ear, and there is no other response possible than to shove him away and drag him by the sleeve into the empty stall opposite where they had stood.

Once the stall door is safely closed behind them, the illusion of privacy carefully intact, Bucky shoves Barton - Clint - against the wooden wall that separates one stall from the other. He is indulged - it is clear he is indulged, for Barton is an archer and has six inches on Bucky, not to mention the difficulty of his missing arm - but that does not mean that Clint goes easy. Bucky must pin him with his arm like a bar across Clint’s chest, must stretch up and bite at his lower lip before Clint lets out a too-loud groan and finally ducks down to kiss him, the sweep of his tongue a familiar hot presence in Bucky’s mouth.

When Bucky pulls away he is breathing hard and Clint is grinning wickedly, a line of bright colour across the top of his cheeks. Bucky carefully unclenches fingers that have become tangled in Clint’s shirt, but he makes no move away. Clint, likewise, stays precisely where Bucky has put him, leaning against the wall and looking quite debauched, and were he not already dishevelled from morning ‘til night Bucky would be quite proud.

“Married yet, then?” Clint asks, and Bucky groans and drops his head so that his forehead may rest against Clint’s lightly freckled collar bone, shaking his head against the skin there. Clint brings up a hand to tug at Bucky’s ribbon, loosing his hair from where it is clubbed at the back of his neck. He winds his fingers through it, calluses catching at individual strands, his heavy hand resting on the back of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky would happily stay here for the rest of the night if only his obligations would allow him.


End file.
